CHAPTER XXXIV.THE EFFECT.
Very cautiously the lid was opened, and a lock of soft brown hair fell out, clinging to Katy’s hand and making her shudder as she shook off the silken tress and remembered that the head it once adorned was lying in St. Mary’s churchyard, where the English daisies grew.
“She had pretty hair,†she thought; “darker, richer than mine,†and into Katy’s heart there crept a feeling akin to jealousy, lest Genevra had been fairer than herself, as well as better loved. “I won’t be foolish any longer,†she said, and turning resolutely to the light, she opened the lid again and saw Genevra Lambert, starting quickly, then looking again more closely—then, with a gasp, panting for breath; while like lightning flashes the past came rushing over her, as, with her eyes fixed upon that picture, she tried to whisper, “It is—it is!â€
She could not then say whom, for if she were right in her belief, Genevra was not dead. There were no daisies growing on her grave, for she still walked the earth a living woman, whom Katy knew so well—Marian Hazelton. That was the name Katy could not speak, as, with the blood curdling in her veins and freezing about herheart, she sat comparing the face she remembered so well with the one before her. In some points they were unlike, for thirteen years had slightly marred the youthful contour of the face she knew once—had sharpened the features and thinned the abundant hair; but still there could be no mistake. The eyes, the brow, the smile, the nose, all were the same, and with a pang bitterer than she yet had felt, poor Katy fell upon her face and asked that she might die. In her utter ignorance of law, she fancied that if Genevra were alive, she had no right to Wilford’s name—no right to be his wife—especially as the sin for which Genevra was divorced had by her never been committed, and burning tears of bitter shame ran down her cheeks as she whispered, “‘What God has joined together let no man put asunder,’ Those are God’s words, and how dare the world act otherwise? sheishis wife, and I—oh! I don’t know what I am!†and on the carpet where she was kneeling Katy writhed in agony as she tried to think what she must do. Not stay there—she could not do that now—not, at least, until she knew for sure that she was Wilford’s wife, in spite of Genevra’s living. “Oh, if there was only some one to advise me—some one who knew and would tell me what was right,†Katy moaned, feeling herself inadequate to meet the dark hour alone.
But to whom should she go? To Father Cameron? No, nor to his mother. They might counsel wrong for the sake of secrecy. Would Mark Ray or Mrs. Banker know? Perhaps; but they were strangers;—her trouble must not be told to them, and then with a great bound her heart turned at last toMorris. He knew everything. He would not sanction a wrong. He would tell her just what was right, and she could trust him fully in everything. There was no other person whom she could believe just as she could him. Uncle Ephraim was equally as good and conscientious, but he did not know as much as Morris—he did not understand everything. Morris was her refuge, and to him she would go that very day, leaving a note for Wilford in case she never came back, as possibly she might not. Had Marian been in the city she would have gone to her at once, but Marian was wherelong rows of cots were ranged against the hospital walls, each holding a maimed and suffering soldier, to whom she ministered so tenderly, the brightness of her smile and the beauty of her face deluding the delirious ones into the belief that the journey of life for them was ended and heaven reached at last, where an angel in woman’s garb attended upon them. Marian was impossible, and Dr. Grant was the only alternative left.
But when she attempted to prepare for the journey to Silverton, she found herself wholly inadequate to the exertion. The terrible excitement through which she had passed had exhausted her strength, and every nerve was quivering, while spasms of pain darted through her head, warning her that Silverton was impossible. “I can telegraph and Morris will come,†she whispered, and without pausing to think what the act might involve, she wrote upon a slip of paper, “Cousin Morris, come to me in the next train. I am in great trouble, Katy.â€
She would not add the Cameron. She had no right to that name, she feared, and folding the paper, she rang for Esther, bidding her give the telegram to the boy Phil, with instructions to take it at once to the office and see that it went immediately.